


The Devil You Trust

by srididdledeedee



Series: The Process of Love [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, anakin skywalker psych major, au where it’s the star wars universe but takes place on earth, extensive character development, maul and padmé are Big Friends and that’s critical to how this goes down, obi-wan assumes a lot in like the first 5 chapters and is subsequently an ass bc of that, padmé is vietnamese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srididdledeedee/pseuds/srididdledeedee
Summary: Maul’s life isn’t perfect, but it’s fine.  He’s fine.  He has a decent job, a roof over his head, and a friend he would do anything for.  He also semi-regularly assassinates people on behalf of the Sith and refuses to think too long about his childhood, but that’s fine too.Obi-Wan Kenobi would consider himself to have a good life - he’s a Jedi, a high school teacher, and the owner of approximately eighty various Sudoku puzzle books, so a better life is hard to imagine.  More than that, he would consider himself to be a good person.  But even a good person has their limits, and he’s slowly being pushed towards his by his across-the-hall neighbor.A story about trust, betrayal, injuries, and healing, though not necessarily in that order.  A story about friendship - a story about love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, remember when I said this would be published around Xmastime back in 2016? That sure didn’t happen!
> 
> So I’ve worked on this for like three years now and it's the longest thing I’ve ever written period, and it’s astonishing to me that I actually managed to like. Finish it. Star Wars is really cool in that you can essentially pick and choose your own canon so I chose this canon, which I have based on nothing canonical. Technically this is in the same universe as Fifty Moments of You and Me, and was inspired by bits and pieces from it, but for all intents and purposes Fifty Moments is the roughest rough sketch of what The Devil You Trust has become. I might actually rewrite Fifty Moments bc my writing has Greatly improved since then and it’s kind of embarrassing to look back on it - I sure made a decision by publishing it, but people seemed to like it. I can only hope you’ll like The Devil You Trust even more. For those new to my writing, don't worry! You definitely don't have to read Fifty Moments before this! 
> 
> A MASSIVE thanks to @east_wind - they've been my rock through all of this. I promise you all, this story would not have gotten written if I hadn't had their constant encouragement and enthusiasm for this story. They've been the best beta in the world, and more than that, the best friend anyone could ask for. Thank you so, so much 💖.

Maul called Padmé regularly. This wouldn't have been a problem, except for the facts it somehow impeded his ability to just text her, Padmé was often busy, and despite being her oldest and closest friend whom she loved dearly, Maul was, for the most part, a complete and total asshole. She wouldn't answer her phone, and he would subsequently leave long winded “why do you hate me” and “I don't need you” messages, with colorful phrases such as “jackass,” “Miss Too-Good-For-Me Senator,” and “truly the worst friend in the history of worst friends, and yes, I am counting Brutus and Caesar” thrown in for variety. Her being away from home never helped the situation, and as it was, Padmé was spending two weeks with her family in Vietnam.

When her phone rang for the fifth time that night, she knew what she had to do.

“You really need new friends,” she said blearily, barely remembering to speak English. “Or a boyfriend. Really, just anyone else besides me so you two can be dicks together.”

“Mé –”

She hung up and fell back asleep. By the time she woke up the next morning, she had 23 new voicemails, none of which she planned to listen to. She groaned into her pillow and rolled over. Maul would just have to deal with radio silence for a few days, and she would deal with the situation that was her dear friend when she flew back.

* * *

Maul was one of the best people he knew. He could be pushy at times, and he was impulsive, but it added to his natural charm. It was truly a wonder he only had one friend.

 _That’s a lie,_ Maul reminded himself. Padmé was temporarily not his friend. Until she called him back, they were merely life-long acquaintances.

He wished he could call his life-long acquaintance and complain about the wholly unfair situation, but she had clearly implied she didn’t care about him any longer. It wasn’t the first time she had pushed him to expand his circle of confidants - confidant. Maul didn’t see what was so awful about his situation. He had a friend - _lifelong acquaintance,_ he reminded himself - who he would do anything in the world for, and a handful of temporary acquaintances.

“Handful” might have been a little generous. He recognized the other beings in his building by face, and he knew his co-workers by name. It didn’t matter. Maul wasn’t bothered by it. He was fine.

Maul didn’t even entertain the thought of a _boyfriend._ Not only did Padmé make it sound juvenile, she made it sound so simple. Not everyone was as conventionally attractive and heterosexual as her. Of course, he was happy because she was happy, but her experiences with love were not universal. It wasn’t her business to dictate his love life - even though that was all she had been doing since she and Anakin got together.

Anakin Skywalker had become the bane of Maul’s existence. He had no idea what Padmé saw in him, and firmly believed that Anakin didn’t deserve her. His open hostility toward Anakin was only matched by Anakin’s animosity for him, and he knew that it frustrated Padmé that they couldn’t stand each other. It weighed on Maul, but not enough to persuade him to change his behavior. He remained hostile, Padmé remained frustrated, and Anakin remained the perfect example of why a boyfriend was a bad idea.

That argument hadn’t deterred Padmé in the past, and it didn’t particularly deter Maul as he glanced at the blank screen of his phone as he rode the elevator up to his apartment on the eighth floor. He wanted to talk to Padmé. He wasn’t lonely - that was ridiculous, he didn’t get _lonely,_ that was a weakness he had overcome - but he missed his friend. Lifelong acquaintance. Whatever.

He just couldn’t imagine having another person in his life like Padmé. He wasn’t sure that he _wanted_ another person like Padmé, but as he sat in his car, picking up his phone only to put it back down, he figured she had at least a little bit of a point. One more ally could be beneficial, strategically speaking, of course.

He didn’t know what Sid would think about the whole situation, and he wasn’t eager to seek out the answer to that question. But, honestly, what was the worst that could happen? Maul didn’t see himself growing emotionally attached to anyone else in the near future. He could simply use one of his acquaintances to mimic a friendship long enough to convince Padmé he had minimal social skills and resolve the entire situation.

Maul was startled out of his head as he noticed a brightly-colored Post-it note stuck to his apartment door. He narrowed his eyes, and tore it off to glance over it. The handwriting was atrocious. It took him far too long to make sense of the scrawl, and once he had finished reading it only irked him more.

_Excuse me,_

_You have been entirely too loud at night. I’m sorry to bring it up, but I need to sleep too. Please stop yelling between the hours of midnight and four a.m._

_\- Neighbor from across the hall_

He crumpled the note in his hand, glaring at the door on the other side of the hall. It was true he made maybe an unconventional amount of noise at night, but never enough to warrant a _message._ He couldn’t think of a conscious moment in the recent past when he had been unreasonably loud after the sun had set.

Well, he supposed the twelve-hour time difference in Vietnam had meant he’d been up in the wee hours of the morning, trying to reach Padmé, and he hadn’t exactly been keeping his voice down as he demanded her to pick up her phone. Still, he was often done harassing her by two in the morning - which led him to the conclusion that his neighbor was complaining about one of the side effects of Maul’s nightmares. He would jerk awake, a cry still on his lips, but had grown used to calming himself down and forcing himself to fall back asleep. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t had them, and didn’t like to think about the contents. The fact that his neighbor had inadvertently reminded him of them turned his irateness into pure anger.

“Don't tell me what to do in my own home,” Maul muttered to himself. He grabbed a pen from inside his apartment and uncrumpled the note, scribbling on the back of it.

_Excuse ME,_

_No. Fuck off._

_\- Hope you have nightmares_

Padmé would say he was being rude, but Maul couldn't bring himself to care. His goal was, in fact, to be rude, and he took great satisfaction in taking a piece of tape and sticking his note to the door across the hall. _Two can play at this game._

He stalked back into his apartment and slumped onto the couch. He couldn’t call Padmé – she still wouldn’t answer – but he sent her a series of rapid-fire texts chronicling the ordeal. He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t receive one.

Padmé was a bit of a square, but she was also rapidly becoming the one percent, so Maul reluctantly listened to her on occasion. It was her civic duty to show her best self to the public at all times, or so Maul had been told countless times. “Her best self” was not limited to her own actions, but also included the actions of the people she associated with. Of course, the general public knew her as Senator Amidala, and Senator Amidala certainly wasn’t acquainted with a rude, gay, Dathomirian astrophysicist to their knowledge. He didn’t hold any resentment toward her for that - it wasn’t like she was trying to keep him a secret, it was just the way things had shaken out, and it made his life easier.

Maul’s phone suddenly buzzed and he reached for it, hoping it was Padmé. Fate would not treat him so kindly. It was a short message from Sid – something about him just being informed of the death of Senator Atell. There was no indication that Sid had been the one to tell Maul to kill her, and no praise for the clean job. Maul didn’t expect congratulations, especially by text, but still felt somewhat empty as he deleted the message. _Whatever. It doesn’t matter._

Padmé and Sid were, for better or for worse, the only spheres of influence in Maul’s life, and there was a clear cut line between them. Padmé was his childhood friend, essentially his entire social life, and generally encouraged him in his endeavors. Sid was his - his something else. Mentor, maybe. He’d been raised by Sid, but calling him a father didn’t sit right. He’d taught Maul how to fight, how to defend himself from the Jedi, and how to turn his frustrations and anger at the world into something more productive. Something powerful.

Maul pushed the thoughts of Sid out of his head and turned on the television, curious to see if Senator Atell’s death had hit mainstream news channels yet. She wasn’t a huge political figure, but an assassination was still an assassination. He wasn’t disappointed. The newswoman was grim-faced, and as she spoke they played clips of the crime scene and the wake.

“The group only known as the Sith have struck once more, in the tragic, horrifying murder of Senator Atell. Senator Atell was up for reelection –”

Maul debated calling Padmé to tell her the news. It would be a segway to an actual conversation – but that was only if she picked up, and he doubted she would. Maul focused on the television once again.

“– there is processing for the Sith to be labeled as a terrorist organization, as the Order of the Jedi especially have been pushing –”

Maul tuned her out. He didn't think anything could count as a terrorist _organization_ if there were only two members. Then again, he and Sid had caused massive damage and widespread panic, and the Jedi didn’t know who they were or where they were located. All they knew for certain was that there were Force-users running around that they couldn’t control. Of course, Maul was also assassinating people, which probably didn’t sit well with them.

Maul scowled. The Jedi didn’t sit well with _him._ Every single one of them was a hypocrite. They preached and proselytized and interfered where they weren’t needed. Every Jedi he’d had the displeasure of interacting with had a superiority complex of some kind. It was an institution of holier-than-thou beings and passive-aggressive behavior.

Sid was direct, and Maul was grateful for that. He didn’t have to wade past any faux praise to receive criticism, and when he was punished, he knew why. He’d gone through a fair share of suffering in his lifetime, but he preferred that to the false hope of the Jedi. Being with Sid had made him strong. He didn’t have to rely on others – he _didn’t,_ not in the way the Jedi did. He couldn’t –

Maul shook his head. No. He _wouldn’t_ rely on others. Sid was different; Sid had always been with him, and he didn’t rely on Sid in the same way the Jedi relied on each other. Sid taught him and Sid trained him, but Maul had his own life away from Sid. There was a degree of separation, and even if it was only Sid who controlled when that separation would end, the separation did exist.

Such thoughts comforted him, and Maul eventually fell into an only-slightly restless sleep on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been incredible to see all the support from everyone!! Thank you all so much!  
> I forgot to talk about an updating schedule at the beginning of last chapter, so here's the sich: I'm going to try to have a chapter up every two to three weeks, but I can't promise anything. I still have to edit a ton, and both me n my beta have to focus on school. My own life is going to be super busy starting in about two weeks. I will say I'm trying to not go a month without posting. Once the summer hits things should even out more. Don't be discouraged - the story is completely written! It's just that all the stuff at the beginning is from 2016 so I need to fix it before sending it out
> 
> Also! Check out my tumblr @slydiddledeedee for bonus art content! search "tpol tag" - there's not that much right now but i've drawn more and will post that stuff eventually
> 
> A massive thanks to @east_wind! You're the best editor in the world, as I've told you countless times, and I love working with you on this even as it reaches its publishing stage! I love you so much!

Maul was violently jolted out of his slumber and off the couch in the early, early hours of the morning by the tail end of a nightmare. He let out a cry of surprise as he tumbled to the floor, narrowly missing the discarded television remote. Waking up was always less than pleasant. Maul groaned, propped himself up, and looked at the clock. It was early, but not worth going back to sleep. He instead stood up and began to get ready for work.

Maul didn’t consider himself vain, but there was a certain level of upkeep he had to maintain to guarantee he was in prime condition. He showered every morning and every evening – some creatures in the galaxy had a stronger sense of smell than others, and Maul wasn’t going to be caught mid-mission because of something as petty as scent. Keeping his nails trimmed and dulled was a must, lest he accidentally draw his own blood by simply clenching his fist. He brushed his teeth vigorously, because a cavity meant weeks of a throbbing ache from the bottom of his jaw to the tips of his horns, and it was no good to be an assassin with a pounding skull. His horns themselves were a beast of their own. The longer they grew, the more brittle they became, and a breakage could easily lead to an infection – which were more painful and lasted longer than cavities – so Maul filed them regularly to prevent them from unexpectedly snapping.

He almost wished he could have been taught the last few factoids by word of mouth instead of first-hand experience, but he had repeatedly been reminded Sid was a different species, so how would he have known? Maul had gotten over it. Besides, it only took one cavity, one horn infection, one bloodied palm for him to learn his lesson.

Though he felt impartial toward trimming and filing and other parts of the grooming process, he did take genuine pleasure in stretching. It was a simple process, and he enjoyed the burn as his muscles woke up. He moved from simple stretches to actual exercises that weren’t hard enough to cause a sweat, but kept him in form. Sid required his physique to be in perfect condition at all times for whatever task he was given, and that required day-to-day training. Maul didn’t mind. He was thankful he didn’t have to train with Sid personally anymore. When he was alone, the exercises grounded him - he not only felt his hearts pumping faster to adjust to his active state, but the Force washed over him in waves. It made him feel –

Safe. Protected.

Maul shook his head. That was stupid, he was always safe, and the Force wasn’t a defensive tool – it was a weapon to use against those that would go against them. It was only a shield as a disguise to infiltrate the enemy. He knew that.

He chose to stop thinking about it when he noticed that it was time for him to leave. He grabbed his keys and his coat, and left his apartment. As he locked the door, he looked up – and another note greeted his eyes.

_Public Menace,_

_No need to be rude. Also, I can’t have nightmares, because YOU WON’T LET ME SLEEP._

_\- Annoyed_

Maul gritted his teeth. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good person.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it to see it was Sid and not Padmé once again. _New target. Supreme Chancellor Valorum. By 7 tonight. Delete immediately._

He was a good person who sometimes had to kill people. He wasn’t ignorant to his juxtaposed position, but he didn’t care, and refused to think about it for too long. His life had always been like that. Maul deleted the message, his focus now on his neighbor. He took the pen from his coat pocket and scribbled a quick response to “Annoyed.” He slapped it on his neighbor’s door with more force than necessary, and went on his way.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi lived a clean, simple, minimalist life. He was blessed to be endowed with the Force, and had been taken into the Order of the Jedi at a young age. He had always known he wanted to be a teacher, and though some days were better than others he had never once regretted his career choice. There were times he had to scrimp and save, but it was all worth it when he saw the faces of the people he helped and the children he taught. Even though the Order was nonprofit, many people insisted on tipping the Jedi that had helped them. It certainly helped Obi-Wan pay the bills. Obi-Wan considered himself lucky, and there was very little in his life he was unhappy with.

However, Obi-Wan had noticed his neighbor across the hall was becoming increasingly rowdy at night. He had assessed the situation, and come up with the perfect solution: a note. It was non-confrontational but direct. Obi-Wan even tried to slip in some light humor, to ease any tension his neighbor might have had.

Unfortunately, his neighbor didn't take it that way. He had exploded in a rude return note. Obi-Wan had seen his neighbor maybe one time before, but he distinctly remembered he was a Zabrak, and that type of aggression was characteristic of the species. It wasn’t his fault at all, just an instinct he hadn’t overcome. Not everyone was as disciplined as the Jedi.

A loud thud at the door interrupted his thoughts. He’d responded in a second note to his neighbor, but it sounded like that hadn’t calmed him at all. Hesitantly, he stood up and walked to the front door. As he had expected, a new note was on his door. Movement caught his eye, and he saw the heels and coat of his neighbor round the corner. _A bit childish, aren’t we?_

He peeled the note off his door and quickly read over it. Similar to the first, it was short, discourteous, and full of unnecessary profanity.

_Insomniac in denial,_

_Sounds like a personal problem. Leave me alone._

_\- Tired of your shit_

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. All he wanted was to sleep through the night without being awoken by whatever his neighbor was doing. He had an occupation that was important. He didn’t want to assume anything about his Zabrak neighbor, but he almost assuredly wasn’t doing anything as indispensable as instructing the leaders of the future. Obi-Wan shook his head, tutting.

He walked back into his apartment, note in hand. He’d get changed for work, write a reply, then leave. Obi-Wan could not for the life of him figure out what his neighbor kept yelling about every night. It bothered him to no end. The yell had come later that morning; Obi-Wan had managed to fall asleep before midnight and was woken at around 5:00 a.m. instead of the usual 3:00 or 4:00. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the extra hour of peace or annoyed that his neighbor was still robbing him of a half hour of sleep.

He scribbled his response onto a new sticky note. It was slightly sarcastic, but Obi-Wan felt the sass was needed. He usually didn’t indulge in such pettiness, but he was at the end of his rope, not to mention absolutely exhausted. He felt entitled to a little bit of petty sarcasm, no matter what the other Jedi masters would think.

Obi-Wan locked up his apartment and walked down the hall to the stairs. The complex was far enough from the school he taught at that he took the bus. He didn’t own a car, but the centralized structure of the city meant a car was not necessary to get where he needed to. In bad weather he took the bus, but otherwise it was a quick bike ride and soon enough, he arrived at the Eastern High School. It was unusually small, especially for an inner-city school. Nearly all the other close schools had around five hundred more students than Eastern. Obi-Wan didn’t mind. The smaller population let him bond with more of his students, and he didn’t have to run all around a huge building when he switched classrooms. It was quite cozy.

Of course, as a public high school, Eastern had a strict policy of not using the Force in the building. Obi-Wan understood the safety implications behind it, but valuable teaching time was used up opening locked doors and grabbing books when he could have done all that with a wave of the hand. Obi-Wan treated it as a lesson in humility and patience. Teaching high schoolers was another lesson in patience in and of itself. Obi-Wan loved his job, he would never forget that, but he did not love high schoolers as a group. They would do work from other classes, discuss how his class wouldn't apply when looking for a job, and constantly badger him in attempts to distract him from teaching. He had majored in English and education - he knew better than anyone that he was incredibly lucky to get a job so soon after college, but he wished his students would at the very least be _subtle_ in their disruptions.

Obi-Wan taught various English courses, but his primary classes were college-level literature. They studied classic pieces from different alien cultures along with Earth books. He did his best to get his students to care, and for the most part he succeeded. From the _Despotica_ to _Poems of Alderaan_ , _1984_ to _Fable of the Crystal Kåhlyt_ , Obi-Wan would persuade the high schoolers to read. He began with the history leading up to the book, the face-value meaning of the book, and discourse surrounding the book. Some students preferred to listen to the book, some preferred to read it, and some preferred to have it explained to them. Obi-Wan allowed them to learn in their respective ways. He had learned not to be frustrated when they missed details - he supposed it was better for his students to Sparknotes what they were reading rather than not read the book at all.

Nothing about his day was out of the ordinary. He taught, planned, had lunch, and taught again. It was peaceful, more peaceful than it had been in a few weeks. Of course, it was too good to last. His sixth period class was in the middle of _My Ar’kai_ , reading quietly, when the announcement came on. Obi-Wan stiffened as the principal cleared her throat and began to speak.

“Good - good afternoon, everyone. I am sorry to be the one to be saying this, but we have just received horrible news. Supreme Chancellor Valorum was - the Supreme Chancellor was found murdered in his rooms mere minutes ago. In light of this tragedy, the rest of your classes have been cancelled. Buses will arrive shortly. Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all, it's been a hot minute! I'm halfway through my extraordinarily busy month - I have exams, and just got back from travelling, and will be travelling again soon. It's a whole thing. But here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy and comment!  
> As usual, a tremendous thank you to @east_wind! Best beta in the world over here!

Maul hated assassinating the famous of society, but they had become his primary victims, as Sid was at a point where he almost exclusively knew famous people. If someone was a threat to him or his plans, Maul was told to remove them. It kept Sid’s hands clean and gave Maul experience - though experience for what, he wasn’t sure. He’d built his lightsaber, and had mastered control of the Force long ago. He wasn’t sure what else he could accomplish.

The text he received earlier that morning was surprising, to say the least. Sid had him knocking off politicians left and right, but the Supreme Chancellor would be Maul’s most powerful victim so far. It made Maul wary, but if Sid was asking – ordering – him to assassinate Valorum, then it turned a question of “could he” to “would he.” The answer was obvious.

_(Don’t doubt Sidious don’t question Sidious.)_

He had determined his plan of action on his way to work. There wouldn’t have been a problem, but Padmé was finally coming back from Vietnam, and he needed to be at the airport by 7:30 on the dot, or his dicey relationship with her security unit would be completely shot. The issue arose in that the airport was thirty minutes away from the laboratory he worked at and forty from his apartment. He could leave at 5:30, but Supreme Chancellor Valorum was supposed to have dinner at 6:00 at a restaurant thirty-five minutes away from his house – in the opposite direction of the airport. The logistics were impossible. He decided that the only reasonable option was to have it over and done with in the middle of the day during his lunch break, when Valorum was only ten minutes away.

Something that most certainly _wasn’t_ anxiety had the time passing faster than it should have been. It seemed he had only just arrived at work when he glanced at the clock and realized it was time for the assassination. Like a machine, he slipped out to his car, changed into his Sith robes, and drove to his destination.

He parked in an alley nearby the building the Supreme Chancellor was in, where he was expected to give a speech within the hour. Maul sat in his car, feeling out Force signatures. Contrary to the public’s belief, everyone was one with the Force, in one way or another. The Jedi had people believing only those who could control the Force were important enough to have Force signatures. Sid had taught Maul better. The Force was strong with some, but it was weak with most.

Maul found Valorum fairly quickly. He was on the third floor with four other people ‒ security guards, he supposed. They’d be no problem. Maul stepped out of his car, and began to scale the building. There was a window around five stories up that Maul easily unlocked with the Force.

As he silently stepped inside, he reaffirmed the Force signatures and felt out the other people on the floor. Guards were everywhere, and other politicians kept going up and down to visit the Supreme Chancellor.

Maul grimaced. It was unusual for so many to be present during an assassination, but it was his own fault for choosing to kill while the sun was up. The real problem arose from how to remove the risk of being seen. Simply killing them was out of the question – only Sid could tell Maul who to kill, and no one but Sid’s victim would die by Maul. Maul could alter the memories of the guards, but it would take an enormous amount of energy he wasn’t sure he could spare.

Maul was able to avoid security up until he was almost to Valorum’s door. There were only a few guards milling around outside. It seemed the security detail hadn’t expected anyone to sneak past the preliminary guards, and it was about to be the reason Valorum died.

Maul decided to call on one of his first lessons from Sid to neutralize the threat. He summoned his strength, sought out the guards both outside and inside Valorum’s chamber, and focused on compressing their throats. Gasps were heard immediately. They passed out, some faster than others, but as soon as the last one slipped into an oxygen-deprived unconsciousness Maul abruptly relaxed his hands, panting a little himself. He was free to simply walk into the room and wasted no time in doing so. Unsheathing his lightsaber, he stabbed the door handle and kicked it open.

Valorum was panicked. He stuttered out a plea, begging for him to not do this, that he’d do anything to save himself. Money, power, anything he wanted if he spared the Chancellor’s life. He had backed himself into a corner, and was curling into himself. Valorum looked nothing like the imposing figure he appeared to be in the Senate. He was pathetic.

Maul was struck by how familiar the situation felt. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was reminding him of. Many of his previous assassinations had ended in similar ways, but the degree of fear Valorum was expressing was sickening Maul to his stomach.

“I’m not going to torture you. It won’t hurt,” Maul said instinctively, automatically. Valorum looked up, and Maul stabbed him in the head and then in the heart rapidly. Whatever pain he had felt hadn’t lasted for more than half a second.

Maul sheathed his lightsaber, shaking a little. He should be happy. If anything, he should be proud of himself. The mission was accomplished, and he'd still be able to get Padmé from the airport. He could have his cake and eat it too, as long as he didn’t think about Valorum’s piteous last moments.

Once back in his car – the guards, still passed out, proved no problem to bypass – he pulled off his robes and slipped his lab coat back on. Going back to work was fine. He forged an alibi with a woman who worked down the hall from him, and slid back into his usual arrogant demeanor as he climbed the stairs to his lab. By the time he entered the lab, he was ready to provoke his colleagues as he usually did.

He walked by Bibble, poked him on the shoulder and said, “The multiverse doesn’t exist.”

“Screw you,” Bibble responded. “Three words: Vacuum energy discrepancy.”

“Three words,” Maul mocked. “Bad at math.”

Bibble swatted at him, but Maul dodged it. His mood had already lifted. He made his way to his primary partner, Nuvo Vindi. “Any progress on what Little Bastard 896-8C is made of?”

Vindi gave a groan. “I want to say xenon, but it doesn’t react with helium or hydrogen. And there’s some evidence of xenon hexafluoroplatinate, but that doesn’t occur naturally!” He put his face in his hands. “I hate this. Why isn’t the platinum in the ground? Just tell me why the platinum isn’t in the ground!”

“Go be a geologist if you love the ground so much!” Bibble called from across the room. The other scientists snickered.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Maul said. “Let me have a look.” He studied Vindi’s notes. Xenon did appear to show up, but platinum? That couldn’t be right. He checked the calculations. “Vindi, this says there should be 77 protons. Platinum’s 78, right?”

“Yeah. What’s 77?” Vindi asked. Maul shrugged.

“I’m an astrophysicist, not some sort of element-knowing magician,” he said. He called out to the room, “Hey, anyone know what element 77 is?”

“You have a phone! Use it!” Bibble shouted back.

“It’s iridium!” Quadinaros called out.

“Thanks!” Maul turned to Vindi. “What does that mean for us?”

Vindi sighed in defeat. “It means either we discovered a new compound of xenon, bringing us fame and glory in the physics and chemistry communities, or that we’re really bad at our jobs and have to redo months of work.”

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s extremely unfortunate,” Maul said.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Maul slapped his hands together. “Instead of worrying about it at this moment, I say we break out the trusty card deck. Bibble, you want to take a break from fake physics and be our third player?”

“In another universe I would say no, but I’ve hit a dead end. Sure,” Bibble shrugged. Vindi snickered and muttered something Maul didn’t quite catch.

“Deal me in!” Quadinaros shouted. “I just need to finish factoring this equation.” Maul gave him a thumbs up. He dealt out the cards and thought about what Padmé had told him. Did his co-workers count as “friends?” He didn’t think so - at least not from his perspective. He had never altered Padmé’s memory and he swore he never would. Every single one of his co-workers had their memories altered, and innumerable times at that. They were the easiest alibis for assassinations, given how little it took to alter their memories. But even as a civilian, there were various outings he had been invited to that he had agreed to and blown off, subsequently leading to Maul having to change what they remembered to preserve their professional relationship.

So, no. Co-workers did not equal friends.

As for boyfriend material - if co-workers didn’t equal friends, how would they equal someone Maul would be willing to date? Maul would never _say_ that he would sooner kill his co-workers than date them, especially not to Padmé, but it didn’t stop the statement from being true. It didn’t help his co-workers’ cases that not a single one was attractive - some might have even called them ugly. Maul did. Padmé often said he was petty, but Padmé had a steady boyfriend (though Maul was loathe to admit it) and had never had a problem finding attractive men.

Maul had a multitude of problems related to finding a boyfriend that Padmé would never have to deal with, and though the one he cited to her most often was that she was a straight human and he was a gay Zabrak, it wasn’t the one that mattered the most. What mattered the most was that he had a long list of assassination victims, the most recent being the Supreme Chancellor, and he wasn’t sure how he could hide his other life from a romantic partner.

Maul didn’t need to think about it, though, because he didn’t have a romantic partner. He just had Padmé, and that was enough for him.

It took longer than Maul expected for their quad to be informed of what had happened - they were on their seventh hand when another scientist came into the lab. Her name was Eirtaé, if Maul’s memory served correctly; he had once worked with her on a paper. Her eyes were red, and there were obvious tears running down her face.

“What’s wrong?” Bibble asked immediately. He stood up to get her tissues.

“It’s ‒ have you heard the news?” she sobbed. All the scientists shook their heads. She sniffled, blowing her nose. “Supreme Chancellor Valorum was ‒ he was murdered earlier today!”

Quadinaros and Vindi gasped. Bibble shook his head sadly. Maul did his best to look shocked.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone properly horrified.

Eirtaé trembled, wiping her eyes. “He was – his guards weren’t even dead, but he – there was blood all over him. They did take him ‒ his body ‒ to a hospital, but –” She hiccuped mid-sentence and blew her nose again. “Boss says we can – we can go home. To mourn.”

The other scientists nodded solemnly. Bibble offered to walk her back to her lab. The remaining three cleaned up and exchanged curt goodbyes. Though he disguised his true emotions, Maul had brightened up considerably. A successful anonymous kill, time off from work, and he would get to see Padmé that night. He couldn’t have asked for a more ideal situation.

The mood didn’t putter out. Even the sight of another note on his door wasn’t enough to kill his newfound elatedness. He just ripped it off and put it on his table to be angry at later. All he had to do was wait for Sid to contact him with a confirmation message. Maybe he would even commend Maul this time.

Maul sat down with a grin stretched across his face. He couldn’t even remember why he felt bad earlier that day. He felt on top of the world, and nothing could bring him down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang, we are OFF 24/7 econ lockdown and also all my other midterms are over so you know what that means!!!! update time babey  
> thank you so much for the kind comments!!! i'm gonna try to stick to my once-every-at-most-two-weeks plan but it is in fact Finals Season once more. i'm actually gonna be less busy than i was for the last three-four weeks but tabs (my beta) has finals before me. it's a whole logistical thing. i just hope you guys let me know what you think of this chapter! i can't say much without spoiling things but Please Be Aware Of The Tags I Put On This Story  
> a huge thank you to @east_wind as usual!!!! you made and make me a better writer!!! special thanks for remembering the word cauterize ♥️

Obi-Wan was lost in thought as he biked home, profoundly disturbed. The faces of the others on the street offered no comfort, every one of them appearing as somber as Obi-Wan felt. It wasn’t so much emotional attachment to the Supreme Chancellor – Obi-Wan disagreed with a number of his politics, and had found himself exasperated by the galaxy’s slow-moving bureaucracy more times than he could count – but it was distressing to know that one of the most important people in the galaxy wasn’t safe. What was even more unsettling was the complete and total mystery surrounding the assailant. The news was being updated every other minute, yet neither the security footage nor the forensic evidence had given any notable clues to who had killed Valorum. The cameras had been angled in such a way that the assassin hadn’t been caught on even one of them, and the two cauterized holes led investigators to believe he had been killed by a blaster – a weapon readily available to essentially anyone.

As he secured his bike, Obi-Wan saw more and more people pull into the apartment complex’s parking lot. It seemed he was not alone in his early release to mourn the galactic tragedy. Obi-Wan sighed heavily, his head low. The entire situation was just so horrible.

He trudged up the stairs, each step seeming steeper than the next. He didn’t know what he’d do for the rest of the day. He couldn’t bring himself to watch the news at the moment; he needed time to process everything on his own. Maybe he’d play solitaire. He certainly was going to try to turn in early.

Unfortunately, the problem that was his neighbor had decided Obi-Wan was not allowed to rest, even in the wake of a galactic tragedy. Music was blasting from his neighbor’s apartment, and Obi-Wan quietly smacked his head against his own door. He didn’t want to deal with the aggravation that came with interacting with his neighbor. He unlocked his door and slammed it shut, hoping to disturb him, but it didn’t seem to do anything. Obi-Wan cursed himself for giving into his anger. A Jedi’s rage bore no fruit.

He sat on his chair, hands folded across his chest, but could only take the muffled music for so long before turning on the news, despite his earlier resolve not to watch it immediately. Many channels had begun to spread that the attack had been carried out by one of the Hutt’s hitmen. Obi-Wan grimaced - crime was absolutely out of control.

The Jedi in the Order’s group chat had been discussing the assassination since the story first broke, and Obi-Wan scrolled past countless messages to see what he had missed. Someone had put forth the possibility that Valorum’s death was the Sith’s doing, and as Obi-Wan scrolled further and further up he realized it had been his own padawan, Anakin. Essentially all of the others had rejected it, saying that there was more evil in the universe than the Sith. The ancient organization had only resurfaced relatively recently; it was doubtful they had enough manpower to orchestrate such a powerful murder. Anakin stood by his judgement, to Obi-Wan’s pride and disappointment. He cared for Anakin, he really did, but Anakin’s quick judgements were trying for both of them. He had become somewhat infamous for making mistakes and then glorifying those mistakes before anyone had the chance to correct him. Obi-Wan had tried to explain the perks of patience in the past, but the younger man simply wouldn’t listen.

His train of thought was interrupted as he _felt_ the bass line of a song. Obi-Wan hadn’t thought it possible, but the music had gotten even louder. He glared at the television, pursing his lips. Something had to be done. Justice had to be delivered. Obi-Wan stood up and marched out of his apartment, and proceeded to furiously knock on his neighbor’s door. The music stopped, and Obi-Wan could hear the tell-tale sound of stomping approaching the door.

“What do you want?” Obi-Wan’s neighbor opened the door with a scowl. This needled Obi-Wan even more, because what right did _he_ have to be angry? He was the one blaring music, disrupting everyone’s grief.

“You're being incredibly insensitive - frankly, you’re being rude,” Obi-Wan said crisply. “I can understand if you're not mourning, but please be mindful of those who are.”

His neighbor glared at him. “You're not the landlord. I don't have to listen to you.” Realization crept across his face. “Oh my god, you're the guy who keeps putting notes on my door.”

“That would be me, yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I see your noise-making carries into the day.”

His neighbor flipped him off and slammed the door in his face. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His neighbor would get his just desserts.

* * *

 Maul gritted his teeth. He had never met his asshole neighbor before, but seeing him in person hadn’t raised his opinion of the man. He was just as pretentious as he was in his note, if not more. Maul’s mood was entirely ruined by the encounter, leaving him bubbling with resentment and irritation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the note he had set aside earlier.

_Enough noise to wake the dead,_

_If you must yell, at least consider taking it somewhere else. Perhaps to a nearby parent’s house, or deaf aunt’s._

_- Sleepless in Seattle_

_Nearby parent._ Maul’s breath caught, and his grip tightened around the note. Pushing away a feeling that certainly wasn’t fear, he turned the note over and angrily wrote a response.

_Dickhead,_

_Maybe it’s something I can’t take somewhere else, if you catch my drift. Not my fault you’re having a dry spell._

_- PhD in common sense_

It technically wasn’t a lie, but Maul wasn’t implying the truth, either. Still, there was no way his neighbor could refute the note. He was much subtler about taping the note to his neighbor’s door, as the last thing he wanted was a second confrontation, but he couldn’t help but smirk. His spirits somewhat lifted, he was able to occupy himself until it was time for him to pick Padmé up from the airport.

It had started to drizzle outside. Maul had exactly one raincoat ‒ a big, ugly, yellow thing Padmé had gotten him years ago. He felt it was appropriate. His mood almost all day had been kind of big and yellow, and it was from Padmé, so that made it special. He pulled it on and took the elevator down to the first floor. The rain was definitely picking up.

Maul tuned into the news on his way to the airport. Valorum’s death was all any station was talking about. Too many were discussing the possibility of the Hutts - how could it have been a blaster, the diameter of blaster injuries were significantly smaller than a wound caused by a lightsaber jab - but Maul assumed that investigators would eventually come to the same conclusions. He was sure Padmé would be a little upset, but she’d get over it in no time, just as she had in the past. She had actively argued against the Supreme Chancellor’s policies, and held no personal attachments to him. Maul hummed to himself as the news reporter recounted the day’s events for the umpteenth time.

_The great thing about being a Dathomirian Zabrak,_ Maul thought to himself, _is how recognizable we are._ There was no confusion about whether someone had met him before or not. There were few awkward and vaguely xenophobic, “So, where are you from?” questions. Most importantly, he didn’t have to hold up a sign for Padmé to easily to find him outside of luggage claim.

Maul could feel Padmé before he saw her. For someone who wasn’t a Jedi (or Sith, Maul reminded himself with a secret grin), she had a remarkably powerful Force signature that made her easily recognizable. Maul intently searched for her among the crowd pouring out of the arrival gate. He couldn’t wait to talk to her again. Even though she _had_ cut off contact with him temporarily, she was his only friend. When he saw her, his face broke out into a grin.

“Padmé!” he yelled, waving wildly. She spotted him, and, despite the roll of her eyes, quickly strode to where he was standing. “How was Vietnam?”

“So much fun, you wouldn’t believe. My family wanted me to stay longer, but duty calls,” she said, and beamed at Maul. “And you. It’s not like I could ignore you forever.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe you did that. Asshole move, by the way,” he said. “You need help?”

“I’m fine,” Padmé said, squaring her shoulders and pushing her suitcase in front of her. “Thank you so much for all the voicemails, by the way. Very bitchy of you.”

Maul lightly nudged her with his elbow, and she smacked him on the arm. “You’ll never believe the call I got on the way back,” she continued. “Sykes kept ranting about how it wasn’t safe and that I needed to get the police to escort me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you do something?”

“Nothing like that,” Maul said, not exactly lying. “Supreme Chancellor Valorum was assassinated earlier today.”

Padmé froze. _“Excuse_ me?”

“Yeah. Galactic travesty.” Maul tugged on Padmé’s sleeve. “C’mon, keep moving.”

Padmé, to her credit, did start moving once more. “Is that it? You’re going to tell me that and - nothing? That’s all?”

Maul shrugged. “What else do you want me to say? No one knows anything. I mean, I heard they think it might have been the Hutts, but does that make sense to you?”

“I’m not sure I’m the best to ask, as I was _just_ informed that our Supreme Chancellor was murdered,” Padmé said, incredulous, and Maul snickered. “It’s not funny!”

“You’re making it funny.” He helped Padmé load her suitcase into his car.

“I can’t believe you. Are the Jedi doing anything about it?” she asked, strapping herself in. Maul gave her a look. “Oh, how could I forget. Even with the murder of the Supreme Chancellor, you don’t do Jedi.”

“Unlike you.”

“Shut up,” Padmé said, not meaning it. “You know what, I’ll just ask Anakin about it later. It’s just ‒ I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. “Let’s - let’s put that aside for now.” She took a deep breath, and turned her full attention to Maul. “What have you been up to? Did you meet anyone new, like I told you to?”

Maul started the car and backed out. “Nope.”

“Maul!”

“Wait, that’s a lie. I met my neighbor today.”

“That’s great!” Padmé said, sounding far too excited, then paused. “Hold on. It’s not ‒ not the neighbor you texted me about?”

Maul didn’t answer. Padmé sighed.

“Well, it’s progress,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “What’s his name?”

Maul shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He signaled to turn. “He’s an annoying jerk, Mé. Why would I want to know his name?”

“You thought Anakin was annoying when I met him,” she said pointedly.

“Yeah, and he’s still annoying.”

She whacked him on the arm.

“Don’t hit the driver!” he exclaimed.

“I get enough shit from other senators about Anakin,” she said, her voice more tired than angry. “Not to mention the pressure he has from the Order. I don’t need you to dogpile on, too.”

Maul was silent, not wanting to show Padmé he was hurt. After a few minutes, he tried to restart the conversation. “Something happen in Vietnam?”

Padmé groaned. “Yeah. Sorry for snapping at you.”

“You want to talk about it?” “Not really. Not now, at least.” She ran a hand through her hair, and Maul didn’t press the issue. He steered the conversation into less dangerous waters - how Padmé’s grandparents and aunts and uncles were, what she had done on her trip, and the amount of work she had now that she was home. It felt nice. Maul had missed his best friend.

Maul got back to his apartment at 9:45. Padmé lived in the suburbs of the city, away from the airport, and though he didn’t mind picking her up at all, she was out of the way for him. The drizzle had turned into a full storm while he was driving, and he was glad he had his raincoat, even for the 45-second walk to the lobby.

When he did make his way upstairs, he was wiped out. It had been a busy day. Between trying to pretend he wasn’t exhausted and assassinating his galaxy’s leader, his energy had been sufficiently drained. He didn’t want a repeat of the morning, though, so he resisted the urge to throw himself on his couch. He fell asleep almost instantly after laying down in his bed, happy and content for the first time since Padmé left.

It couldn’t last. He hadn’t expected it to last, but he had expected - hoped - to have maybe twenty-four hours before the frivolous emotion faded. Instead, he was woken at around 1:00 in the morning by his phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes blearily, and rolled over to see who was calling at the ungodly hour.

His eyes shot open and his blood ran cold when he saw the caller ID. He bit his lip; Sid never called that soon after kills. He must have done something horribly wrong. As his hearts attempted to beat out of his chest, he answered the call.

_“Maul.”_

Sid was angry Sid was _really_ angry Maul had messed up again and now Sid was mad he was sorry he didn’t know _he didn’t know please I’m sorry_ ‒

He swallowed. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me why,” Sid began smoothly. “The authorities are blaming the murder on the _Hutts?”_

“I’m sorry, I didn’t ‒ I was trying to ‒ please, I’m sorry, Sid ‒” Maul stuttered, his throat dry. Sid interrupted him.

“What did you call me?”

“I didn’t ‒ I’m sorry, Master,” Maul amended his mistake quickly, but the damage had been done.

“It seems you’ve forgotten your place again,” Master said, his voice deadly quiet. “Do you know what that means?”

Maul nodded, forgetting Master couldn’t see him. His face was hot. Something wet ran down his cheek.

“Answer me, Maul.”

“I can’t ‒ I know what I have to do, I do know ‒ it’s twenty ‒ no, it’s thirty strikes ‒ and I, I have to, I have to ‒” He couldn’t form the words, he was stammering too much.

“Forgetful, aren’t we?” Master tutted. “Very well. Thirty strikes for forgetting your place, and five more for forgetting your punishment. For ruining the mission, I think only a pint of water tomorrow is fair. Any other food or drink consumed will result in harsher discipline. Do you understand?”

Maul hadn’t eaten since that morning. His lunch break was spent on the murder, and he’d forgotten to eat dinner.

“Do you _understand,_ Maul?”

_Don’t doubt Master don’t question Master don’t ignore Master don’t disobey Master_

“I understand.” Maul’s voice was level and even, though his whole body was shaking. Something kept dripping onto his arm, but they weren’t tears. Master wouldn’t approve of such weakness.

“Good. Do not fail me again.” Master hung up.

Maul’s body was begging him to just fall back asleep, but his body was weak. It had always been weak, and training and punishments made it stronger, but never strong enough. It would fail, and without punishment it would keep failing, and that was unacceptable. He needed it to be stronger. Maul needed to be stronger.

He pulled out the short shock whip from his closet - the one Master had given him when he had moved out of his childhood home - and wrapped it around his upper thigh. He refused to look at the skin there - too many punishments in the same place had resulted in scars and burns that would never fade. They were records of Maul’s failures. He breathed in deeply, trying to ground himself, and triggered the electricity.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

When Maul was finally done, he collapsed in an uneasy sleep, and dreamed only of lightning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof....I didn't realize it had been nearly 4 weeks. thanks for your patience!!! i hope you enjoy the chapter - it features one of my favorite characters to write, and the one that grew the most on me through the entire writing process. i am of course talking about anakin "psych major" skywalker  
> i'm not making any promises esp bc i'm getting to chapters i myself haven't edited yet but HOPEFULLY once i'm done with exams the publishing schedule will even out a little  
> Thank you to my wonderful beta @east_wind!!! I love you so much!!!!  
> Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to tell me what you think! I appreciate every single one of your comments!

Obi-Wan Kenobi had, once again, not slept through the night, and unsurprisingly, once again, it was his neighbor’s fault. He contemplated actually going to the landlord, but didn't want to be indirectly responsible for the eviction of his neighbor. Obi-Wan himself had been late paying rent occasionally, so who knew how badly the Zabrak was doing.

However, that didn't excuse his behavior. There were plenty of people in bad situations who didn't keep their neighbor up all night. His neighbor wasn't special.

That night, Obi-Wan had actually managed to fall asleep, but had been abruptly woken by a new noise in the early hours of the morning. It was repetitive, distressing, and most of all, loud. Obi-Wan plugged his ears, to no avail. He had reached a point where he didn’t particularly care why the noise had come to be, he just wanted it to stop. Eventually it ended, but Obi-Wan found it impossible to fall back asleep. The noise had been upsetting, but the sudden absence of it didn’t ease his mind.

Still, vague worry aside, Obi-Wan did not care about his neighbor’s problems. He had been polite and patient. He would argue that he had been a good person. In return, he had gotten crass messages and loud nights.

It occurred to Obi-Wan in his sleep-deprived state, lying on his bed with his sheets in his fists, that he didn't even have a name to curse. He couldn't very well proclaim, “Damn you, neighbor-across-the-hall.” A name would make his dislike-bordering-on-hatred much less petty – not that his dislike _was_ petty. His neighbor was the petty one, determined on keeping Obi-Wan from getting a good night’s rest.

Obi-Wan almost missed the note on his door as he left his apartment. He grabbed it and read it quickly, irritated his neighbor was still pretending he wasn’t the one at fault. It implied sex, which almost made Obi-Wan burst out laughing. No, his neighbor was as dry as he had guessed Obi-Wan was - an unfortunately correct assessment, though Obi-Wan was somewhat comforted that at least he wasn’t the one caught in a lie. He was a Jedi; he wasn’t stupid. He knew the tell-tale sounds of sex, and it was not the noise that had disturbed him in the past. It was most definitely not what he heard the night before.

Though he was bone-tired from his impromptu wake-up, Obi-Wan brightened up when he remembered the Order of the Jedi had their weekly meeting that night. Obi-Wan cared for his students and fellow teachers, but he was looking forward to talking to the people he had known all his life, and who could understand him on a molecular level. Perhaps they would have advice for his neighbor problem.

Obi-Wan reached the first floor and, name-seeking quest in mind, made a beeline towards the mailboxes. His neighbor lived in 809, so his mailbox was right above Obi-Wan’s own. Obi-Wan hesitated for an instant - was this really worth it? - before deciding yes, it was, and opened his neighbor’s mailbox with the Force. Illegal, yes, but also justified. In a stroke of good fortune, his neighbor hadn’t collected his mail the previous day.

All of the mail was addressed to a Khameir Sarin, save a postcard from Vietnam for someone named Maul. Obi-Wan supposed it had been accidentally put in Sarin’s mailbox, and pocketed it to further investigate later. He then carefully placed the rest of the mail back in the box, and began to shut the hatch.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Obi-Wan froze. His neighbor ‒ Sarin ‒ was awake, evidently.

“Collecting my mail,” he lied.

Sarin squinted at him. He looked worse for wear. He seemed to be limping, and his eyes (yellow, not unusual for his species, but rather striking nonetheless) were bloodshot. His eyes narrowed even more.

“That’s funny, I don’t remember you living in _my_ apartment,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s a federal crime to open someone else’s mail.”

“Yes, well…” Obi-Wan trailed off, then realized the loophole. “I didn’t open anything.”

“You opened my damn mailbox!” Sarin said, infuriated.

“Nothing was broken,” Obi-Wan replied tactfully.

“Oh my god. Oh. My god.” Sarin scowled at him, raising his hands as if to strangle him but making no move forward to carry out the action. “I cannot believe you. Do you think you can just break into anything of anyone’s, you sociopath? How did you even get in without damaging the lock?!”

Obi-Wan shrugged ambiguously. Sarin looked like he was trying to glare a hole through his head when he suddenly cried out, “You’re a Jedi! You broke into my mailbox with the Force!”

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan said, uncomfortable. “However, I was justified in my pursuits of opening it.”

_“How?!”_

“Please lower your voice, there are people still sleeping,” Obi-Wan said. “If you must know, I was curious what your name is.”

Sarin looked like he trying very hard to resist assaulting Obi-Wan.

“But now I do know!” Obi-Wan remarked cheerfully, taking a step back. “And if you didn’t see, I left a note on your door, _Khameir.”_

He spun around and walked away before Sarin had the chance to answer. Obi-Wan felt unbelievably smug about the encounter, even though he realized he was very much in the wrong. Now Sarin knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a bad neighbor.

The day flew by unusually fast. Obi-Wan put off giving a test in light of the events, and his classes expressed their relief loudly and exuberantly. He met with a handful of students during lunch to discuss the meaning of Chapter Eleven of _My Ar’kai,_ and they made very interesting comparisons between it and the current state of the Republic.

When he had the chance, he glanced over the postcard he had taken. He was beginning to feel guilty about breaking into Sarin’s mailbox, and he felt the least he could do was deliver the postcard to whom it was intended for. On the front was a picture of a river, with a bridge crossing it and mountains in the background - a beautiful panoramic that captured the landscape perfectly. The words “Nha Trang” were superimposed on the bottom left-hand corner. Obi-Wan flipped it over, hoping the message would give any clue to whom the card belonged to.

_Maul,_

_Security says I shouldn’t even be sending this, but I wanted to, so I did. Vietnam is great and I’m having a really fun time with my family. Sorry for telling you to stop calling me, but I’d come home to like thirteen messages everyday. No hard feelings, I hope. I can’t wait to see you again!_

_\- Mé_

Obi-Wan didn’t know what he had expected. There were clues - that it was sent from Vietnam, the sender’s name, whatever that was about security - but none that he could effectively use. All he could do was draw assumptions, and he knew that wasn’t a particularly effective way to go about finding who the postcard was meant for. He pocketed the note once again, half-wishing he had just left the postcard in Sarin’s mailbox.

Obi-Wan was glad when the bell rang, signalling the end of the day - he had no meetings to speak of, which left him free to depart the high school shortly after the buses. He didn’t bother stopping by his apartment, choosing to head straight to the Jedi Temple on his bike. The meetings officially began at 6:00 p.m., but there were always people milling about. Obi-Wan enjoyed talking with the Council and his fellow Jedi. His old master always had a life lesson to impart, though Obi-Wan hadn’t been a padawan in years. He only wished Anakin could respect him as much as Obi-Wan respected Master Qui Gon. He had been arriving later and later to meetings, if he showed up at all. It frustrated Obi-Wan to no end, but it was Anakin’s choice, and the most Obi-Wan could do was berate his padawan.

Obi-Wan immediately noticed Shaak Ti as he entered the building. He waved to attract her attention and she stopped, giving him time to catch up to her.

“Good afternoon, Master Ti!” He greeted. She gave him a small smile.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said smoothly. “This has been a…tumultuous week.”

“It certainly has,” he agreed. “I’m still trying to process it all.” Shaak Ti made a noise of agreement, and Obi-Wan followed her up the stairs. “Do you think it was really the Hutts?”

“We don’t have enough evidence to confidently know who it was,” Shaak Ti said. “I believe there is a chance it was the work of the Hutts, but there is also the chance it was not. We must proceed very carefully.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I noticed you had no comment for the group chat.”

That drew a chuckle out of her. “I muted it. I haven’t looked at it in months.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “A wise decision.” As they reached the top of the stairs, Obi-Wan spied Qui Gon out of the corner of his eye, and bid a quick goodbye to Shaak Ti.

“Young Obi-Wan, I swear you get here earlier and earlier every week,” Qui Gon teased. “Sometimes I wonder if you skip your last class to get here this quick.”

Obi-Wan flushed. “That was one time,” he said, embarrassed. “And I was sixteen - a mere rebellious teenager!”

Qui Gon laughed. “Don’t make yourself sound like an old man, you’re only a few years out of college.”

“It seems being around high schoolers all day has only aged me faster,” Obi-Wan replied, and Qui Gon raised his eyebrows.

“Is something is bothering you?” Qui Gon asked. “Yesterday’s events, perhaps?”

“Yes - and no.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Valorum’s death was a tragedy, you don’t need me to tell you that, and the complete lack of information surrounding the assassin…unnerves me, to say the least.”

“And?” Qui Gon prompted.

“And I’ve had some bad run-ins with my neighbor,” Obi-Wan confessed.

“Is that so?”

“He’s been doing _something_ in the middle of the night for the last week or so. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days - and when I approached him about it, he seemed to imply _I’m_ the one at fault!” Obi-Wan explained, annoyance creeping into his voice. “He’s been quite the thorn in my side.”

Qui Gon tapped a finger to his chin, thinking. “Have you considered extenuating circumstances?”

“Of course I have. But when I persisted in the same respectful way, he exploded!” Obi-Wan rubbed his temples. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as rude as him, and I’m around teenagers all day long.”

“Maybe he’s become just as frustrated with you as you are with him,” Qui Gon suggested.

“I can’t see why,” Obi-Wan complained. “I have been nothing but courteous, and he has pushed me to my breaking point! I hope he likes the taste of his own medicine - breaking into his mailbox maybe wasn’t me at my best, but -”

“Sorry?” Qui Gon interrupted. “You’re going to have to repeat that, because it sounded like you illegally opened your neighbor’s mailbox, and my former padawan certainly wouldn’t do something like that.”

Obi-Wan flushed. “That’s not the full story -”

“Ah, there must have been an explosive device mailed to your neighbor he was unaware of, or perhaps an anthrax letter. That is surely what you’re about to tell me.”

“I - I needed to know his name, and it’s not as if I could just ask him!”

“Of course,” Qui Gon nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “What a ridiculous notion, asking your neighbor what his name is. Breaking into his mailbox is the perfect solution.”

Obi-Wan looked at his feet, and Qui Gon sighed. “You’re an adult, and a Jedi. You can make your own decisions, but please think a little harder the next time you consider breaking the law like this.” He paused, and when Obi-Wan glanced up he could see the hint of a smile on his former master’s face. “I hope you did at least find out his name.”

“I did,” he answered, still beet-red. His actions weren’t fit for a Jedi. _God, what was I thinking?_

“I think you should discuss this further with Master Yoda,” Qui Gon said. Obi-Wan nodded, abashed, and though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, walked toward the wrinkled green Jedi.

The conversation was more of a verbal beatdown than a discussion, but Obi-Wan knew he deserved it. Master Yoda, in his infinite schadenfreude, had called over Mace Windu and Shaak Ti in the middle of it, who promptly and harshly scolded Obi-Wan. _A Jedi must have patience,_ they said, _even when provoked. A Jedi must suppress sudden passion in favor of logic. A Jedi must use critical thinking skills. A Jedi must evaluate if his thoughts are tinged with xenophobia._

“Who are you,” Shaak Ti said with a quiet ferocity and a glint in her eyes that made Obi-Wan want to stab himself in the stomach with his lightsaber, “to assume the kind of life he leads based on nothing but that he is a Zabrak.”

Obi-Wan had profusely apologized and swore to never do it again. Ignorance was no excuse for his actions. He was beyond embarrassed, but he thanked all three masters for their wisdom, then thanked the stars when Anakin arrived shortly after the ordeal. Had Anakin been witness to Obi-Wan’s public humiliation, he would have never lived it down.

“You're here unusually early. A record-breaking ten minutes,” he commented, taking the seat next to his padawan. Anakin beamed at him, the sarcasm flying over his head.

“I know! My girlfriend just got back from her transpacific trip, and she insisted that I get here on time. I don't know what I would do without her,” he sighed, voice dreamy.

“It's good she's keeping you on a tight leash,” Obi-Wan said, suppressing his more negative thoughts. “Will we ever meet her? Or learn anything about her other than that she’s your girlfriend?”

Anakin shrugged. “It's up to her. It's a big safety issue of hers, even though I keep telling her the Jedi are the safest people around.” He scratched his head. “I wish I could have seen her longer today.”

“Didn’t you just pick her up from the airport?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin shook his head. “She got back yesterday, and her friend picked her up.” His face twisted, ugly with jealousy. “I don't like that guy. He's always calling her.”

“I'm sure it's nothing,” Obi-Wan said.

“Yeah, well. You aren't dating her,” Anakin pointed out. He snapped his fingers, remembering something “That reminds me: you're bi, right?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said. His sexuality was not the normal topic of conversation between him and Anakin, and he was slightly worried where Anakin was going with the tangent.

“Well, my girlfriend asked for any gay guy I knew to go out to lunch with her friend,” Anakin began. “I think he's kind of homophobic? He’s probably homophobic, from the few times I’ve talked to him. I’m pretty sure she wants to show him that, you know, it’s okay to be gay.”

“Anakin –”

“Please?” Anakin wheedled. “You’re like super good at conflict resolution and also I don’t know anyone else well enough to ask them, and my girlfriend’s been asking me for months, and you've got this asshole-ness about you just like her friend – no offense – so I think you’re the best person for the job.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Is that it?”

“I’ve also already told her you’d do it.”

“There it is,” Obi-Wan said, resigned “When and where is this - homophobe conversion?”

“Next Saturday,” Anakin said. “She said whatever time works for you, as long as her friend can pick the restaurant.”

“Great. You'll text me?”

“Of course. But, like, good luck - this guy’s a real jackass. Total dick.” “Anakin.” “Absolute nut job, too. I may not have my degree just yet, but I get the feeling he’s got some serious issues he’s gotta work out. I wouldn’t want to be his therapist.”

“Anakin, the meeting is starting.”

As Master Yoda called the meeting to order, Obi-Wan regretted his decision to help Anakin more and more. His padawan – who, he had to remind himself, he loved like a very stupid, very irresponsible brother – had described a nightmare scenario and he had _agreed_ to it. At the same time, it felt like penance – a chance to put some good out into the world to balance out his earlier moral (and legal) mistake. Still, it as if the Force itself was trying to warn him that he had agreed to something irreversible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note on Khameir Sarin - you would not believe how long it took me to find a name for Maul that wasn't his Sith name, but I did it. It's his non-Sith name according to an unpublished Star Wars novel that i found through a considerable amount of research. finding that name is one of my proudest achievements


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So it's been a few months  
> I had a great summer, and part of that was being on one piece lock down pretty much all the time. It didn't help that i got my beta into one piece as well, and that we both had jobs. but we're back at school, it's the beginning of a new semester, and i'm ready to keep posting! hope you like this one and keep your eyes open for another chapter soon! As usual, thank you to my wonderful beta, @east_wind, for helping me!

It would be a tremendous understatement to say that Friday was a bad day. Sid’s punishment took its toll, and by the end of the day Maul was worryingly _not_ hungry, which meant his Saturday was also going to be less than ideal. Work was disheartening, as Vindi confirmed that they had to redo their last few months of research. To top it all off, Padmé texted him as he was falling asleep, sharing details for his blind date on Saturday.

Padmé had the best intentions in mind, Maul didn’t doubt that, but she was dead-set on finding him a life partner and he didn’t particularly appreciate it. She was happy with Anakin, and he was happy not having his own Anakin. He could admit he had brought the blind dates on himself, as he ragged on Anakin whenever he was given the opportunity. Padmé’s solution was not, as Maul had suggested many times, to dump Anakin, but rather to find someone for Maul. She didn’t seem to realize her efforts were in vain.

Maul had told her on multiple occasions that she was misguided, but she was also his best friend, and he wasn’t going to _not_ show up to a blind date she had set up. He’d been given a recent break, as Padmé couldn’t set up dates from Vietnam, no matter how hard she tried. But now she was back, and she had started organizing his love life again.

 _I think you’ll really like this one!_ She texted him.

_you say that every time. hasn’t happened yet._

_I promise, he’s really great. I dated him in high school._ She replied immediately.

_u dated tons of guys in high school and all of them were dicks_

_Don’t be rude._

And that was the end of that. Maul didn’t have the energy to argue, so he conceded defeat.

The blind dates wouldn’t even be that terrible if Padmé hadn’t revoked him of his privilege to directly communicate with his dates. He had wormed out of one too many, and when she discovered his dishonesty, she hadn’t been pleased. So Padmé set up times and locations with whoever she had picked out for the week, and Maul would drag himself there for an hour and a half for an uncomfortable-at-best date with a stranger. Standing them up was out of the question ‒  he respected Padmé’s effort too much for that, and even if he didn’t, he didn’t want her to be angry with him.

His rough Friday turned into a rough Saturday morning. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still sucked. His ribs hurt, his head hurt, he was absolutely parched, and he just felt disgusting. Rolling over, Maul could see he had missed three calls from Padmé from earlier in the morning. He rubbed a hand over his face, and dialed her back.

“Hey,” he said as she picked up. “What do you want?”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” she ribbed. “Everything alright? You always answer your phone.”

She had a point.

“Long day yesterday,” he said shortly. Tip of the fucking iceberg. “Why’d you call me?”

“Your date is at 12:30. Where do you want to meet?” she asked.

“Ugh.” Maul felt sick. “A soup place?”

“A soup place?” Padmé snorted. “I don’t many places that exclusively serve soup. There’s Panera, I guess?”

“That’s fine.” “Is the one on 35th Street good?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Excellent!” She declared. “Remember: 12:30. Have fun!”

And with that, she hung up. As his plans approached, Maul slowly prepared for his date. He ate a small bowl of cereal and was decently proud of himself when he didn’t throw up. His limp was almost gone, and he was rested and awake. He hadn’t even thought about his neighbor.

_Shit._

Maul hadn’t had the energy to be properly furious yesterday, but now his emotions came rushing back. His neighbor had broken into his mailbox - who even did that? And to find out Maul’s _name,_ of all things. He was a complete psychopath.

Most worryingly of all, his neighbor was a _Jedi._ Maul couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed - though it wasn’t as if he’d been searching out Force signatures after he had moved into his apartment years ago. He didn’t feel threatened - if his neighbor knew he was Sith then he wouldn’t still be living on the planet, in all likelihood - but it didn’t bring him any peace of mind.

Jedi were the worst, and now Maul had two involved semi-directly in his life. His luck was truly remarkable.

Putting his most recent crisis aside, Maul focused on just getting through his date. He was fully ready to leave and was locking his door when he noticed a small, sad post-it note on the ground. He had no doubts who it was from, and though Maul felt proud of his door for rejecting his neighbor’s note, he was confused as to why it was there. He had been sure his last “I'm having lots of sex, leave me alone” note would stop his neighbor.

_Trojan Horse,_

_You aren’t. I frankly don’t want to know what you’re up to, but next time, please sob a little quieter._

_\- Gotcha_

Maul tensed, going rigid. Memories from two nights before flooded back to him. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was reliving it all over again. He gripped his door frame, steadying himself, trying to inhale. _It wasn't real._

_None of it was real._

He sucked in a deep breath, slowly exhaled it, and straightened his spine. He needed to put a stop to this note business, and as quickly as possible. It was interfering too much with his life. He was taking control of the situation. He dug a loose pen from his coat pocket and scribbled a quick message.

_Jedi SCUM,_

_FUCK YOU AND FUCK OFF._

_\- DON’T CONTACT ME AGAIN_

Clear and simple. He slapped the note on his neighbor’s door, and strode away. Hopefully the Jedi would take the hint and end their cycle of communication.

With the Jedi off his plate (at least temporarily), Maul pondered who he could be meeting. He wasn’t surprised Padmé had kept in contact with some of the people from high school - he fell into that category, though they went further back than that, and it was just the kind of person she was - but an ex-boyfriend? That was bold, even for her.

Maul found himself dreading the date the more he contemplated it. The thought of even talking to someone from high school that wasn’t Padmé was appalling. It didn’t help that Maul had known all of Padmé’s high school boyfriends and had hated every single one. She would date a new guy every other month, and Maul wished that was an exaggeration. They would inevitably break up, and Padmé would inevitably find someone new in a few weeks. Still, she’d only dated a handful of bi guys, so that narrowed down the selection considerably.

Maul tried to remember exactly who Padmé had dated in high school, and realized with a start it had been a decade since he graduated. Damn. There were former classmates of his that had kids. _Yikes._

He refocused himself on his guessing game. The only bi ex-boyfriend of Padmé’s that came to mind was San Hill - oh, and Qymaen, of course. Maul hoped it was Qymaen. He’d been one of Padmé’s more tolerable boyfriends, for the handful of weeks they had been together.

Maul parallel-parked in front of the Panera. The smell was making him slightly sick, but he bought a small drink so he could sit down inside and wait for his date. He still wasn’t feeling up to solid foods, and eyed their soups.

Sitting alone in a Panera, glancing over soups and fighting nausea. Exactly how he wanted to spend his Saturday. He took mercy on himself and called Padmé.

“What do you want?” she asked upon answering. “You better not be on the phone while on your date.”

“No, he hasn’t shown up yet. Is it Qymaen?” he asked.

“Who?” Padmé sounded confused. There was a voice in the background, saying something Maul couldn’t quite make out. Padmé responded to the voice with a, “No, it’s Maul ‒ no, the one I’ve known for forever ‒ don’t say that, Ani, that’s not nice.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Maul asked, not particularly caring if he was.

“You’re always interrupting something. Anyway, Qymaen who?” Padmé asked.

“Qymaen from high school, who else? Qymaen jai Shaleel, the one who was always touching you!” Maul tried to think of something that would stick out. “He always wore that mask? You complained that he tried to kiss you with it on.”

“Oh, Qymaen _jai Sheelal!”_ Padmé exclaimed. Her tone turned disgusted. “Ew, no. He went into bioengineering and gave himself another pair of arms.”

“Sounds like the opposite of a problem.”

“I’m not done! He’s like seventy percent metal now,” she continued. “And you know what he had underneath the mask? Tusks and fangs.”

“Yeah, I know, we _all_ took gym together. Any other reason you’re keeping your only semi-attractive ex to yourself?”

“He’s in jail right now,” Padmé said. “Attacked three Jedi at once.”

“It sounds like we would get along just fine.”

“Don’t joke about that!” Padmé said. “Look, the guy you’re meeting is great. He’s sweet, and nice, and funny, and - did I mention - tall?” Padmé sounded immensely proud of herself. “I know you pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“You know, height isn’t a synonym for being attractive,” he muttered.

“That’s funny, because I remember conveying that exact sentiment to you in the past only for you to brush me off!” Padmé clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “He’s six five. Be happy.”

“I don’t remember you dating anyone that tall,” he said, suspicious.

“He slouched,” Padmé said. “Okay, I need to get back to _my_ date. Tell me how it goes later!”

Maul stared at his phone. The worst thing about Blind Date Saturday was how little he knew about the people he was being set up with. Other people on blind dates at least got to learn their date’s name, but Padmé had learned her lesson in that regard - Maul had a secure internet connection and the conviction to do his own research on his dates to draw conclusions. Now all Maul knew of his dates was that Padmé knew them. He fiddled with his straw and checked the time. 12:44.

“Maul!” He looked up.

_Please, no._

“It be bein’-a good long while since I be seein’ you last!” Jar Jar Binks said, beaming. “How yousa?”

“I’ve been delightful,” Maul ground out. “You don’t happen to just be here to get lunch?”

“Nope! Padmé said meesa be goin’ on-a blind date with you!” In his excitement, the Gungan had knocked over Maul’s soda. “Oh, meesa be apologizin’ profus’lee!”

Maul grit his teeth. “It’s no problem.”

“Oh, thank goodiness!” Jar Jar looked at him expectantly. “You be wantin’ to be orderin’ the munchie lunchies now?”

“Oh, yes, let’s,” he said, tightly crossing his arms.

Maul got the soup he didn’t particularly want but knew he had to eat. Jar Jar ordered a plate of raw fish off the expanded interspecies menu, and scarfed them down eagerly. The sight spoiled what little appetite Maul had.

“Padmé been sayin’ you be bein’ an astrophysiceest. What that be bein’ like?” Jar Jar asked brightly.

“My partner and I discovered an error in our research on that star we were investigating and have to review our calculations from five months ago to figure out where we screwed up.” Maul’s voice was apathetic.

“Yikesadoodledandy!” Jar Jar gasped. “Meesa kind-a understand, though. Meesa an’ Padmé, we had to be lookin’ through policies made forever ago! Then we gotta bring it up in-a the Senate, an’ then vote, an’ it's just-a kerfufflemunxin.”

Maul dug his nails into his arm, not enough to draw blood but enough to focus on something other than the Gungan’s prattling.

“I'm glad we have capable politicians to fix policies,” he said, keeping his voice level but clipped. Jar Jar slurped down another fish.

Maul shifted in his seat, resting his head on his hand and discreetly rubbing one of his lateral horns to focus and calm himself. He couldn’t cause a scene, Padmé would kill him. But Jar Jar just wouldn’t _stop talking._

“Meesa be thinkin’ you look super-duper good’lee for someone borderin’ on tripley’ten,” Jar Jar said, apparently trying to give a compliment.

“Aren’t we the same age?” Maul asked, annoyed.

“No! Meesa pushed ahead in grade school! So when you been in ‘leventh grade, meesa supposed to been in ninth!” Jar Jar explained. “Meesa only doubley’ten-six.”

Maul was ready to leave. Unfortunately, he had an agreement with Padmé, and he endured another half hour of babbling Gungan before they were able to go. Jar Jar made them exchange phone numbers and watched as Maul put it in his phone. Then he _insisted_ on walking Maul to his car. It was agonizing.

The moment Jar Jar was out of site, Maul called Padmé.

“I can’t _fucking_ believe you!”

There was a “who’s that?” in the background, and Padmé sighed. “What’re you calling about?”

“What am I - the _date!_ Jar Jar Binks!” Maul fumed. “What were you thinking? I thought he was straight! I thought we were friends! I thought you knew I have standards!”

“He’s very nice. I thought he’d be good for you,” she said. “I’m running out of people that you might like, you know.”

“I didn’t like him in high school, why would I like him now?!”

“People change!”

“Have _I?”_ Maul asked incredulously. “Tell me, in the many years you’ve known me, have I changed enough to _like Jar Jar Binks?!”_

“He’s a senator, and he’s tall -”

“When you tell me someone is tall, I don’t expect his eyes to be adding three inches!”

“Don’t be xenophobic,” Padmé reprimanded.

“And another thing, he wouldn’t stop speaking Gungan! Other Gungans don’t do that, Padmé! It was ‘meesa’ this and ‘yousa’ that, I wanted to die!”

“‘Yousa’ isn’t the translation of ‘you,’’” Padmé said.

“I know that, I took Gungan for two years!” He yelled.

He heard the same “Who’s that?” in the background. Padmé sighed. “I’m putting you on speaker, ok? My ear hurts.”

“Don’t you dare ‒”

“You’re on speaker now. Say hello, Anakin.”

“Stop calling Padmé.”

“Ani!”

Maul bristled. “I’ve known Padmé almost longer than you’ve been alive,” he replied angrily.

“Maul!”

“Sorry, sorry. No, I’m not. Fuck you, Anakin.”

“I will hang up, don’t test me,” Padmé threatened. “Now, you have no right to complain about Jar Jar speaking Gungan. He’s very proud of his culture, and that includes his language. It’s like you and your tattoos.”

“That’s an awful comparison. I had no say in my tattoos. Jar Jar has every say in what language he speaks,” Maul argued. “I know he speaks English and Vietnamese, he spoke both all the time when he was dating _you.”_

“You dated Senator Binks?” Anakin asked incredulously.

“I’m really sorry you had a bad time,” Padmé said to Maul. “But I already found someone else for next week, so you can look forward to that!”

“Yeah, and he’s human!” Anakin piped up.

“Don’t be xenophobic,” Padmé and Maul said in unison. Maul’s eyes narrowed as he processed what he just heard. “Wait, how does Anakin know what he looks like?”

“It doesn’t matter - I told you I was running out of people, I can enlist my boyfriend to help you.”

Maul groaned. He knew there was more, but Padmé didn’t seem like she was going to budge. “Can I get his number this time?”

“You lost that privilege -”

“Jar Jar Binks, Padmé. You did that to me.”

She sighed. “You know what? Fine. I’ll text it you.”

Maul was elated. _“Thank_ you.”

“If I find out you chased him off -”

“I know, I know, I won’t. Promise.”

One last sigh, but one that sounded happier. “I’ve got to go now. Anakin’s getting restless.”

“Whatever. Bye, Mé.”

“He calls you Mé?”

Padmé hung up before Maul could tell Anakin to fuck off. Seconds later, his phone buzzed, and just as he expected, it was Padmé.

_Here's his number. Anakin’s giving him your number too. And this means you get to organize your date on your own._

There was a brief pause, then he received a second text.

_If I find out you skipped the date (and I WILL find out) I’ll tell my security team that you’re not safe to be around._

_FINE,_ he texted back.

Despite the threat looming over his head, the bad date, and the disaster that was the previous day, Maul felt optimistic. He’d been given the chance to communicate with his future blind date before the actual date. This was bordering on normality, and it felt...good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I emerge from my schoolwork and one piece lockdown to post this chapter. I experience the mortifying ordeal of looking at my less than good old work to turn into something palatable.)  
> As usual, thank you to @east_wind for being my editor!

Anakin Skywalker, possibly the most talented Jedi of his generation and a man Obi-Wan viewed as his brother, had his heart in the right place, but Obi-Wan suspected his head was a little askew. Obi-Wan had years upon years of evidence. At age eight, Anakin was able to sneak into an Order of the Jedi meeting through the air vents and fell from the ceiling squarely onto the then-padawan Obi-Wan. At age twelve, Anakin mastered basic control of the Force, and proved it by lifting and throwing nineteen-year-old Obi-Wan into the wall. At age sixteen, Anakin took his newly-constructed lightsaber and attempted to slaughter a mosquito that had the misfortune of landing on Obi-Wan.

At age twenty-one, Anakin Skywalker managed to text the Jedi group chat instead of Obi-Wan directly.

_yoooo this is the dudes number my gf sez dont say ur a jedi cuz he hates us and dont tell him ur name or wat u look like bc its supposd 2 b a suprise_

Anakin obviously realized his mistake when Master Yoda replied, _Flattered I am, young Anakin._

_lol rong chat,_ was Anakin’s only apology. _its 4 master kenobi. noone else txt him hes a huge jerk_

This message was shortly followed by one directly from Anakin to Obi-Wan, reading, _my b_

Obi-Wan was ready to throttle Anakin.

_“Your b” indeed,_ he replied crossly. _What were you thinking?_

_hnest mistake wht do u want me 2 do abt it_

Anakin’s sense of responsibility was truly abhorrent, and Obi-Wan wasted no time in telling him just that. Anakin truly believed he was not at fault, and would have none of Obi-Wan’s criticisms. He felt as if he was arguing with a brick wall. Obi-Wan was in the middle of drafting his fifth paragraph on the importance of subtlety _(surely he’ll read this one)_ when he received a text from the number Anakin had provided minutes before.

_hey is this my saturday date?_

Obi-Wan blinked. That made it sound much more like a romantic date rather than what Anakin had told him. He hesitantly responded, _Yes, that’s me. But ignore any other texts from people not in your contacts._

_y?_ “???” asked.

_Do you know Anakin?_ Obi-Wan sent. Without waiting for an answer, he quickly sent, _Instead of giving me your number he put it in the group chat._

_Are you kidding me_

Obi-Wan laughed. Apparently his date had met Anakin before. He then texted, _Also, this might seem strange to ask, but is this a romantic date?_

_literally what else would it be,_ “???” replied.

_I just needed to confirm. Anakin isn’t the best at explaining things correctly._

“???” readily agreed. Their mutual dislike of Anakin was exactly what was needed to break the ice, and it allowed the conversation to continue smoothly. Obi-Wan was unable to get a full name out of his date, but was given an initial – M. Apparently, M had been going on blind dates for the last five months. This was the first time he'd been given a way to contact his date, though.

_Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a blind date, the whole becoming attracted to a person because of their personality?_ Obi-Wan asked.

_my friend says i’m super petty so its pretty much hit or miss,_ M texted back.

Obi-Wan found that amusing, and told M so. He continued his communications, opening up about himself a bit. They shared many interests, including orchestra, Italian and Thai food, and classic 1970s films. He didn’t realize how long they’d been communicating until he got a text from Anakin that read, _dude whered u go u just up and left in the middle of our rgument. thats just rude._

_Sorry,_ Obi-Wan typed back. _I’m texting the man you set me up with. You never fail to astound me._

_whatever,_ was Anakin’s only response.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and continued, _Why did you say he was a huge jerk? He seems nice._

_of course u n him get along,_ Anakin replied. _whatever. i guess its good 4 u._

_Thank you for the support,_ Obi-Wan texted, hoping his sarcasm was blatant enough for Anakin. He didn’t care how much his padawan disliked the other man, he seemed like a nice fellow.

Obi-Wan’s reverie was interrupted by his phone ringing, and he smiled when he saw it was Adi Gallia. They were friends - though Adi had been a master long before Obi-Wan, she had taken a liking to him when he was still a padawan.

“Adi,” he greeted, answering his phone. “How are you?”

“I’m wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It’s been too long since we saw each other outside the Order meeting, and I thought, hell, I have free time, and Obi-Wan doesn’t work on weekends, why don’t we get coffee and catch up?”

Obi-Wan considered the offer. Coffee was awfully expensive. However, he hadn’t splurged on himself in a while, and it would be nice to go out for a reason other than grocery shopping.

“Sounds lovely. Where?” he asked.

“There’s a little cafe near the apartments they just built,” Adi said. “Do you know the one? I can’t remember its name.”

“Oh, I know the one,” Obi-Wan said. “With the green windows and the chairs outside that look like they’d be awful to sit on?”

“That’s the one.” Adi sounded like she snapped her fingers. “Can you meet me there in twenty minutes?”

“It’s not impossible,” Obi-Wan told her. “I’ll have to depart immediately, though. I’ll see you soon!”

“Bye!”

Obi-Wan grabbed his keys and his phone. He texted M, _Going out to coffee w/ a friend. Ttyl._ He trotted down the stairs. The bike rack was behind the building, inside its own padlocked fence. There had been issues with stolen bikes before, and to remedy it the apartment made the bike rack almost impossible to get to if you didn’t have the padlock’s key. Obi-Wan unlocked the gate, unlocked his bike, and started to bike to the cafe.

Biking was a source of constant peace in Obi-Wan’s life, even among busy city life. He’d get honked at, some people would even try to run him off the road, but he still found tranquility in it. The spinning of the wheels was rhythmic. The smell of the streets ‒ putrid and pungent and dank ‒ was familiar and comforting. The soft hum of car engines, sirens in the distance, and Obi-Wan’s bicycle clattering along the street all added to the peace.

Obi-Wan skidded to a stop in front of the cafe. He saw Adi inside, and he gave a small wave. She waved back and gestured for him to come inside. He securely locked up his bike and then stepped into the building.

He ordered an iced Americano at the counter and Adi approached him from behind.

“Gross,” she said, making a face.

“It’s cheap,” Obi-Wan said simply, shrugging. “I’m just a teacher.” He looked at her drink. “And you’re one to talk, that looks like nothing _but_ sugar. You’re in your mid-forties, aren’t you? Isn’t that a little much?” He received his coffee and walked with Adi back to a table.

“I need more sugar because of that!” she joked. She waggled her eyebrows at him as they sat down. “Besides, I look younger than you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Obi-Wan groaned. Adi giggled in response and took a sip of her coffee. She had a little foam mustache, which she tried to lick away.

“How’s work for you?” Obi-Wan asked. Adi rolled her eyes. “Oh, same old, same old. I got a comment on what I was wearing today in a meeting. In a meeting! Can you believe that?” She huffed. “Thank god things have changed since I started working. The guy’s been talked to by my boss and a ton of his coworkers. So he won’t be commenting again.”

“That’s good,” Obi-Wan said distractedly, fixated on something she had said in the middle of her sentence. “You started working at your company…fourteen years ago?”

She smirked at him. “You better believe it.” She took another gulp of her coffee. “That’s when you were pining after me.”

“Please, no.” Obi-Wan’s face was bright red. “I was a high school freshman. I was allowed to be kind of gross, I didn’t know any better.”

“Get over yourself. Shaak thinks it’s hilarious, and I’d be pining for myself too,” Adi chuckled. “Speaking of romance, who’s the guy?”

“The who?”

“Obi-Wan, _your_ padawan was the one who texted his number to the group chat. Surely you haven’t forgotten!” She exclaimed in fake surprise.

“Oh, yes. That guy.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. A smile spread over his face. “We really hit it off.”

“That’s great!” she said enthusiastically. “But can you two selflessly connect?” Her voice turned comically dramatic.

“Adi, please. It’s barely even flirting at this point,” Obi-Wan said.

“Windu’s gonna come for you,” she said, laughing hard. She deepened her voice. “‘Obi-Wan, I’d like to meet your date for the standard Jedi-partner quiz. Question one: on a scale from one to ten, where would you rate your compassion?’” She cackled loudly.

“It’s not that funny,” Obi-Wan protested. “And wouldn’t Master Yoda be doing the interrogating?”

“Master Yoda doesn’t give two shits about Jedi relationships as long as they’re not with the Sith, convicted criminals, or convicted Sith criminals,” Adi said, lowering her voice. “He’s a horny old frog.”

Obi-Wan laughed loudly. “Now I’m going to think about that the next time I see him!”

“Good!” She chortled. “You need to laugh more, you know? Whenever I see you you're either way too serene or glaring at Anakin.”

“He needs _someone_ to glare at him,” he pointed out. “Tomorrow’s a training day, actually.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re the reason I’m glad I never took on a padawan.”

Obi-Wan let that comment slide, and sipped his coffee. Adi was a good friend. She made him take breaks, and had probably stopped his head from spontaneously combusting. She was full of energy and told him when he was making a mountain out of a molehill, but they both had busy schedules, and it was nearly impossible for them to get together. Still, it was nice to have someone who he didn’t have to be completely mature around.

They chatted for a little while longer before Adi remembered that she had to grocery shop. Obi-Wan bid her adieu. Outside, it had started to rain. Obi-Wan didn’t mind. He biked home, wet and a little cold, but more relaxed than he had been in days.


End file.
